People assume that because I’m neck-deep in the auto industry’s future – writing about wholesale, consulting on strategy, buying and selling the latest models, selling warranties for connected cars, helping dealers go digital—that I must be all-in on where things are going.
And I am. Sort of.
I see what’s coming. I see how the world’s shifting. I understand why OEMs are adding more screens, more sensors, more software. I get why everything needs an app now. Hell, I’ve built systems that rely on it.
But when I walk into my garage, it’s a different story.
There are no subscription unlocks here. No over-the-air updates. No voice assistants.
Just steel, torque and keys.
This is what I call the Freedom Stable.
Over the years, I’ve learned how to dial into signal. That subtle gut-check frequency that cuts through the noise.
I’ll give you an example.
For years, I was the guy with the latest, baddest, biggest vehicle. Always North American. Always loaded. When I opened my first wholesale business, the first new vehicle I leased was a black 2001 Chevy Suburban LT – barn doors, every option. I looked like a Secret Service agent rolling into dealerships.
After that? It was one Ram after another. Always diesel. Always maxed out.
The last late-model truck I truly bought (outside of demos and freebies) was a 2020 Ram 1500 Sport. It was decked. I waited forever because I wanted the 12-inch infotainment screen, the big TV. That truck felt like the future.
Then one day I’m sitting at a big intersection and I count them.
Nine.
Nine guys in the same truck.
And I realized something: I’d pulled every string, used every bit of insider access I had – 30 years in the business – to get this thing. And nine other dudes just had it.
Maybe not with the big screen. But the same stance. The same silhouette. The same badge.
Later that day, I sold it. I started driving the FJ.
It wasn’t intentional at first, but looking at the lineup now it’s undeniable:
–2007 Toyota FJ Cruiser with a 6-speed manual. The last of the raw, overbuilt Toyotas. Part truck, part Tonka, all business.
–2001 Jeep TJ 60th Anniversary (manual as well). Arguably the last Jeep that still felt like a Jeep before branding and comfort softened the edges.
–2005 Ford Excursion Limited- Diesel. A rolling piece of anti-electric history. No DEF, no compromise, just torque and presence. I call this one Truck Norris.
–2012 Chevy Silverado Crew Z71 shop truck. Okay, this one’s more functional than culty, but it’s simple, analog and does what it’s told without asking for Wi-Fi.
And now I’m eyeing an ultra low-mile 2004 Chrysler 300M Special. Because of course I am. Slept-on luxury, a long hood, and just enough edge to remind people what Chrysler once knew how to build.
We now live in a day and age where car prices are getting out of reach for many people. I see folks with $2,000 car payments that are underwater immediately. I also see dealers not knowing what the heck to do with something like a 2004 Lexus LS or a mint 1996 DeVille that some old fella just can’t drive anymore (with a whopping 50K on it).
These dealers will put the VIN into an appraisal tool and look like they saw a ghost. The tool won’t know what it’s worth, and most banks won’t give loans on them for the same reason – no clue what they’re worth.
There is a literal sea of these vehicles out there with tons of usable life left in them. Cars that won’t get shut off in the next lockdown, won’t stop because the battery in your remote died… and you can still look cool as hell driving them.
Don’t be like me and the other 9 guys at that intersection.
None of these cars can be shut off remotely. None of them listen to me. None of them report back.
And that’s the point.
In an industry where everything is becoming a rolling iPhone, there’s something sacred about machines that still answer only to their driver. Where control isn’t a setting…it’s the default.
This isn’t about rejecting progress. I’m not a doomsdayer or a nostalgist. I’m just someone who’s spent enough time inside the machine to realize that freedom isn’t just a feeling. It’s a feature.
And I’m betting on modern classics to preserve it.
Not just because they’re cool. Not just because they’re culty. But because they’re understood now by only a few…within reach of the masses…and will be revered by many later.
The Freedom Stable isn’t just my garage. It’s a hedge against the direction we’re heading.
It’s also a reminder that sometimes, the best way to move forward… is to get back behind the wheel of something that doesn’t need permission to start.
More to come. And maybe a few more spots left in the stable. We’ll see.
Bob Manor is Co-Founder of Auto Auction Review and Founder of Can-Am Dealer Services. His website is https://bobmanor.com
